


Comfort and Succor

by icandrawamoth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Revenge, Uneasy Allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 04:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: After Distna, Hobbie mourns Wes and finds encouragement from an unexpected source.





	Comfort and Succor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphorisnt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphorisnt/gifts).



> Betsy wanted Disna from Hobbie's pov, and I never turn down an angst prompt. >:D

Hobbie knows he shouldn't be wandering around the base alone. The Rogues don't even know where they are, they're surrounded by enemies who have become allies by only the slimmest thread of necessity, and he knows he's putting himself in unnecessary danger.

Just the same, he can't stand sitting alone in the room he's been given, and there's no way he's going to sleep. The images of the battle at Distna are still far too fresh in his mind. Really, one image: Wes, shot out of his cockpit, limp body spiraling through space, Hobbie unable to do anything to save him.

Wes, _dead._

Hobbie chokes on a sob, planting a hand on a wall as he stumbles. It hits him all over again as it has been with each breath all day. Wes is gone. Wes is never coming back. Hobbie is never going to see his best friend, his other half, the man he loved, again.

The grief is so strong it takes his breath away. And when he tries to shift it even a little, to acknowledge the other Rogues they lost today, he can barely think. He knows he can't afford this distraction; all of them have to be at their best in this situation that could shift dangerously at any time.

He just needs this, now. A night of wandering, thinking, getting everything out, getting his head right. Then, in the morning, he can fight.

So he walks, for what feels like hours. Tells himself maybe this can somehow be useful, turns it into a case of recon. They haven't been given a full tour yet; maybe he'll have something helpful to tell the others in the morning.

He mechanically makes his way to the hangar as if drawn by a magnet. The officer stationed there watches him closely but doesn't say anything as Hobbie runs a hand along his X-wing's nose, confirms the ship hasn't been tampered with. Then it's back down halls he'd walked earlier. Cafeteria, refreshers, locker rooms... He finds a door he hadn't noticed before, unlocked, and goes through.

It's the simulator room, banks of the machines lining the long space on two sides. Among them is Colonel Vessery, who looks up when Hobbie enters, his gaze sharp.

“Something I can help you with?” the Imperial asks.

Hobbie swallows, wanting his voice to be absolutely steady when he has to speak. When he's reasonably confident it will be, he moves forward and touches one of the simulators. “These are what we'll be training in?”

Vessery is still watching him closely. “Yes. Major Klivian, wasn't it?”

Hobbie dips his head in a nod. “Do you want to go right now?”

Vessery's expression twitches. “You wouldn't know where to begin.”

“I've flown TIEs before. Your Defenders can't be all that different.”

Vessery eyes him for a few more moments, then shrugs. “All right. One last battle before retiring to bed, why not?” He pops the hatch and gestures Hobbie inside.

Hobbie climbs in, quickly familiarizing himself with the controls. As he'd thought, they're not so different from what he's seen before. Vessery leans in after him, gesturing to various controls and making a couple of points as Hobbie nods his understanding.

This he can do. This is a distraction that works; he's always been able to put everything else out of his head when he flies.

Once Vessery is satisfied Hobbie is settled, he closes the hatch. Hobbie waits a few moments until the program comes to life ahead of him, signifying that Vessery has reached his own cockpit.

It drops them into a starfield around some nondescript planet, a simple dogfighting exercise. Hobbie acclimates swiftly to the way his new ship moves, and though it'll take much more practice to be any good in a real battle, he knows he won't be a complete failure here.

Vessery is good though, of course, as Hobbie had known he would be. Soon enough, he's sliding in behind Hobbie, lining up shot after shot, and Hobbie grits his teeth. _If Wes were on my wing–_

The stray thought overwhelms him, makes him freeze long enough for Vessery to get a proton torpedo straight into his simulated ship and blow him to atoms.

The screen fades, and Hobbie just sits in his seat, feeling like he's been gut-punched. For a moment there, just a moment, he was okay, he felt just like always, and all it had taken was one thought to shatter him again. Shakily, he brushes tears from his eyes.

His simulator's hatch opens, and he blinks through the sudden circle of light at Vessery's framed face. “I think that's enough,” the man says as he holds out a hand.

Hobbie takes it, letting himself be guided from the cockpit. “You did get me,” he admits, and his voice is rough. “Guess I'm going to need more practice after all.”

Vessery is frowning at him as if deciding something. “May I make an observation, Major?” he asks finally.

Hobbie feels suddenly cold, but he nods.

“My conjecture is that like your young Captain Darklighter you also lost a lover in the Distna ambush. Among your peers, the two of you are clearly the most affected by the outcome of that battle.”

Hobbie closes his eyes, trying to tamp down on the growing hollowness inside of him. “Yes,” he manages.

Vessery steps forward, lays a hand on his arm. “I understand. We have all experienced loss, Major. I am only sorry I could not spare you and the rest of your squadron these.” He pauses for a moment, then asks, “Would it help to talk about her?”

“Him.”

“Him,” Vessery amends.

Hobbie struggles to catch his breath. How to explain Wes to someone who never met him and never will? How to convey the way his eyes lit up when he smiled, the crease of his brow as he sighted a target, how pitifully helpless he was when he was sick? His hopes and fears and dreams, the things he whispered to Hobbie late at night and never told anyone else?

“His name was Wes,” Hobbie whispers. He’d meant to say more, to try, but his throat closes up too tightly. He struggles to hold back tears. He can't cry in front of this man. He can't.

Vessery nods. “Come with me, Major,” he says gently, and uses the hand on Hobbie's arm to steer him.

They end up at the far end of the room where a small lounge area has been set up, and Vessery guides Hobbie to a chair before turning to a drink synthesizer. He returns a few moments later and presses a mug into Hobbie's hands.

“I'm hardly going to poison you, Klivian,” Vessery says when he hesitates to drink, though his voice is kinder than it could be. “It is merely night-tea. To help you sleep.”

“Thank you.” Hobbie just holds onto it for a few moments before he takes a sip, letting its warmth seep into him. When he does, the taste is mild, just sweet enough to be pleasant. “I never thought I would be here, you know,” he says after awhile, still staring into the cup.

“Here?” Vessery echoes.

“Alone. Accepting comfort and succor from an Imperial.”

“You'll find some of us are more human than you think, Major.”

Hobbie nods, too tired and hurt to argue the particulars.

“Things will be different for you with your Wes gone,” Vessery says, and Hobbie flinches to hear his name from those lips. “But with this plan, we will help you get your revenge against the people who took him from you. That will be a start to healing.”

Hobbie should argue, he knows he should. Revenge isn't the answer. It shouldn't be the answer.

He wants it so badly.

“Take the tea and go back to your room.” Vessery stands, gives him a bracing pat on the shoulder. “Get some rest, and tomorrow we will start down that road.”

Hobbie nods, fortified for the moment, and does as he says.


End file.
